Page 21 of All's Well that Friends Well

Susan Miller deposits me in a room that’s bare save for a small table and a few chairs; she leaves as soon as she sees me settled. Her jacket and skirt are both tweed like mine, I notice, but hers are brown and oversized. They’re neatly pressed, though, and her shoes are scuff-free as she returns briskly to her desk.

Yep,I think with a little smile.I like her.

I fill out my packet of paperwork as neatly but quickly as possible, trying to keep my hand steady. It’s obnoxious thatmy dance training gives me better-than-average control over my movements, and yet I still shake when I get nervous.

I also, for some reason, really struggle with chopsticks.

When I’m done with the packet, I stand up, tuck the chair neatly back under the table, and return to the front desk, where I find Susan seated once again.

“Where should I put this?” I say, holding up the papers.

“Here,” she says blandly, reaching out for them.

I pass them over and then smile again. “Am I all set? Where should I—” But I break off as someone enters the room from behind me.

Susan’s eyes widen, her brows popping in surprise, so I turn around to look too—and then I smile.

“Oh, hi!” I say. It’s the man from Luca’s, still gray-haired and very old but clearly wide awake despite the early hour.

When I’m that old, I’m going to sleep until noon every day. I will luxuriate in my advanced years.

Susan speaks just as I’m about to. “Mr—” she begins, but the man waves his hand at her, and she falls silent.

“You can call me Rod,” he says to me. He holds out his hand, and I shake it.

“Rod,” I repeat, smiling. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You made it here, I see,” he says to me in that gruff voice. Still, there’s a sparkle in his eyes, and I nod.

“Here I am,” I say. “I just finished my paperwork. Susan was very kind.”

“Susan is never kind,” he says, jerking his chin over my shoulder. I glance behind me just in time to see Susan’s lips purse into a frown.

“She was,” I say quickly. “She was very helpful.” I look the old man over, my eyes lingering on his stooped form. “How are you doing?” I say, because whatever he told Luca,I definitely saw him stumble on those steps. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he says, waving at me now with one wrinkled, arthritic hand. “Just fine, so don’t you worry.” He takes me in and then gestures at my outfit. “You look as professional as I do.”

“Thank you,” I say with exasperation. I smooth my hands down my jacket and skirt. “I can clean just as well in this as I can in something else, you know? I’m dressing for the job I want, not the job I have.” Then, when I realize I’m rambling—and when I remember that this man gives off important vibes—I straighten up. “Sir,” I add, like an idiot.

But he just grunts. “Let’s see how things go,” he says. He turns around and begins shuffling toward the back of the little office. “Susan, a word when you’re done,” he calls over his shoulder. “And good luck, Miss Marigold.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling, and I try to make myself believe the next words that come out of my mouth. “But I don’t need luck.”

“No,” he says, still walking. “I imagine you don’t.”

My smile grows. I watch him until he disappears around a corner, just to make sure he’s all right—he’s so old—and then return my attention to Susan.

“He’s some sort of manager, right?” I say, keeping my voice low. I’d like to at least know who I’m speaking to. “Someone important? He gives off that aura.”

Susan hesitates for only a second. “Something like that,” she says, ducking her chin, and I nod too.

“I thought so. Well,” I go on, “I’m ready. Where to, Mrs. Miller?”

“MissMiller,” she corrects in a flat voice. There’s a brief flicker of interest on her face now, butit disappears when she speaks again. “And go down this hall, take a left, all the way down to the end, another left, and you’ll find the supply room. The crew should be there. Your supervisor will take it from there.”

“Down the hall, left, down the next hall, another left, and I’ll find the supply room,” I repeat. When Susan nods, I do the same. “Got it. Thank you,” I say with a little wave.

She doesn’t wave back, but I think she’ll warm up to me.

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